Just a Man
by EarlyMorningWishes
Summary: Elias Finch had lived a great many years. Of all the things to accomplish in life, there was one thing always out of his reach; there was always one thing he could never be. Until one day, it happened. Something finally changed, and he was what he had longed to be. He was just a man. Except, it had to end.
1. Chapter 1: Human

**Author's Note:** I always liked the character of Elias Finch, and I wondered a lot about his back story. So being a Fanfiction writer, I naturally decided to give it a whirl. As far as I know, there aren't any other stories about him (with him as the main character anyway). I hope you guys enjoy it, and if you've read my work before or not, I hope you'll check out more of my work in the future.

Feel free to drop a review, ask questions, or give a critique. Thank you so much!

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The first time he saw her, she was easily a mile away. It was her hair that caught his eye.

It was blazing in the sunlight, a sort of burning golden color. The long tresses flew in the air behind her, and the skirt of her dress tried to keep pace with it.

He was traveling west, headed for the Pacific Ocean, just because he could. He didn't have a life, not really. He was a freak, a monster. He was the only one of his kind that he knew of, and that made it worse.

He didn't mean to follow her, he really didn't. But he steered his horse down the hill on an intercept course anyway.

She was just a human after all, so fragile and doomed to live a short life. Even if he actually met her, he couldn't get to know her. It would make out-living her too painful.

He thought he'd lost her, half an hour later. He hadn't seen her since descending the higher ground. She hadn't been going very fast, her horse barely at a brisk trot. He should have overtaken her by then.

Strangely, some part of him was saddened by the realization he would not meet her. Some human girl he had only caught a glimpse of, and he inexplicably found himself missing her.

But then there was a shout, some yards ahead of him, and a string of very un-lady like language.

He rushed his horse forward, not even knowing if it was the girl, and entered a clearing.

She was there, the one with the fire gold hair, struggling to her feet with a wince of pain.

He dismounted before his horse had slowed, and he finished pulling her to her feet. She lost her balance with his sudden help, and before he knew it, he had her pressed close to his chest.

She blushed and pushed him anyway, flicking her caramel eyes far away from his face and sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear. She muttered an apology, and then crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, "Why'd you do that for?"

He didn't really know why he helped her, but a part of him liked having her against his chest. That part of him wanted to reach out and pull her back into place against him.

But he knew what he was. He knew what she was. It would – and should – never happen.

In his silence, the girl became agitated, "Why are you out here anyway? It's pretty far off the trail, and there are better places to reach the river. I don't think I've seen another soul out this far in the years I've used it."

He grinned. She wasn't like any girl he had known in this era. There was a spark in her. And he knew a thing or two about fire.

"I'm just passing through," he told her truthfully, "On my way to Oregon."

Her eyebrows went up, "That's quite a ways out. Where are you from, if you don't mind me askin'?"

He smiled this time, for the first time in a very long time, "I don't really have a place that I'm from."

Changing the subject before she could ask another question, he took a step back and surveyed her little meadow, "So what made you scream like an Indian witch doctor casting out spirits and curse like a drunk on his way home?"

She blushed again, but her face was defiant as she looked him straight in the eye, "I ain't sorry for speaking that way. I was stopping to let my horse take a drink when a snake spooked him. I screamed when I fell because I was surprised, and I cussed because it hurt."

He smiled again and was struck by the strangeness of successive smiles. "You aren't like other girls are you," he found himself asking.

She narrowed her eyes at him and put her hands on her hips, "I'm no girl Mister; I'm a woman, and I'm proud to say I'm one of a kind. I don't want to be like other women because I'd rather be myself."

He had to pause at her words, his smile fading but not disappearing. She was special, and for the first time in many decades, he felt a flutter. It was an urge to be something he wasn't. Trying to ignore it but failing, he decided to press it.

He took a step forward, and he could feel his face subtly change. It was a little darker; it revealed a little more of his age and experience, and it was his predator face. In those few times before, when he felt that flutter, that urge, the person in question had never been able to handle the truth. They never really accepted him.

He didn't eat human flesh, but he could, if he wanted. He just chose not to. He ate regular food, in smaller amounts, and fresh wild animals on the necessary occasion. He wasn't interested in hunting her, and he didn't feel the heat needed to burn her.

But he was feeling something predatory, and he wanted to see her response. He wanted to see her reaction to the first taste of his true nature. He had to see what she would do.

She reacted like he knew she would; she shrunk back, her eyes dilating and her heart speeding up. Her body was preparing to fight or run. Some part of her knew on instinct that he was a danger to her.

But then she swallowed and took her own step forward, challenging him, "What are you doing out here?"

"What if I'm a thief or a murderer," he taunted in a darker voice, "What if I'm some kind of monster?"

He could see the fear swimming in her eyes, but drowning it out was another emotion.

She turned her back to him, retrieving something from the saddlebag on her horse. She turned back around and leveled a gun at him, cocking back the hammer, "I'm not scared of you. If you are any of the above, then I'll shoot you."

He had encountered hunters before. They usually didn't know what he was, and even then, the ones that did know didn't know how kill him. But he could tell that despite her bravery, she was no hunter. He could tell the kind of monster she thought he meant was the figurative sort.

He raised his hands anyway, his face reverting, "Well Miss, I happen to be a little of several things, but I didn't come here to hurt you or steal from you. I actually came to see if I could help when I heard you scream."

She lowered the gun far too quickly, shrugging off the fear like he had never been a threat. "I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself just fine," she put the gun back in its place after clicking the hammer into its original place.

'_No you can't_,' he couldn't help but think. The little slip of a girl couldn't fend off half of the weakest creatures he had come across in his years. But her spirit was strong enough to almost make him believe her when she said it. He liked her.

Tugging at her plain brown dress, she seemed shy suddenly. She looked up, and after hesitating just a second, she walked over with her hand out, "I'm Catriona O'Callaghan by the way."

He shook her hand, despite his momentary surprise, and returned the curtsey, "I'm Elias Finch."

When she moved to retract her hand, he pulled it up to his lips a pressed a kiss to the sun-kissed appendage. He smirked at her even as he released her hand, her cheeks flushing once more.

"O'Callaghan, that's Irish right," he asked.

"Yeah, my father's grandparents are from Ireland. My mother's family came from Finland and France generations back. What about you," she continued the conversation.

"I guess my family originated somewhere in the Middle East, but I don't have any family to ask for sure. Is there a town near here?"

Her face was crestfallen as she completely ignored his question, "You don't have any family?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, feeling just a little awkward, "That's not exactly what I said, but yes, I don't have any living family."

Pointing to the nearest oak, he decided a prolonged conversation would be more comfortable sitting in the shade.

He both liked and hated the sun and its heat. It was a part of the monster that he was, but at the same time, it made it harder to stay in control of the need to burn things.

She followed his lead, leaning against the tree across from him.

He continued, steering the conversation away from himself, "Why don't you tell me about your family?"

She smiled faintly, "I live with my dad, and I have four older brothers. Only one of them, Malachi, lives at home now. Sean, Tomas, and Davin are all married and living their own lives."

"What about your mother," he found himself prying unabashed.

Her face saddened momentarily, "My mother died when I was really little. She and my little brother died in childbirth. I'm the youngest living child in my family."

He winced, having something in common with her, "What does your father do?"

"He's a wheelwright, and so are Sean and Malachi. Tomas actually went to some school and became a doctor, and Davin opened a livery," she paused for a second, and looked at him for direction.

"What do you do," he asked, genuinely curious and wanting to keep her talking about her normal life.

She looked away with a hint of bitterness, "My dad wants me to be a wife."

"What do you want," he asked gently, wanting to know.

He was feeling less like a wandering monster, and more like something he had never truly been. He was starting to feel human, normal, and most unfortunately, he was feeling attracted to the spirited Catriona.

She looked into his eyes with her caramel ones, and he felt like she could see his tainted soul. And somehow, he was okay with it. He wanted her to know his deep dark secrets. She could handle it; he could tell.

She gave him a small smile that was warmer than the heat he lived with, and didn't make him feel the need to harm something.

"I don't know exactly what I want to do. I guess I just want the freedom to do what I want to when the time comes."

He could relate, he really could.

"How old are you," he found himself asking, before he knew he was doing it.

She smiled more, and a part of him felt relieved, no happy. It was such a strange thing for him to feel.

"I'm eighteen, but my birthday is only a couple of months away."

He smiled himself, his chest light for the first time he could remember.

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**Factoid: **Catriona = Irish for pure O'Callaghan = descendant of strife


	2. Chapter 2: Normal

**Author's** **Note:** I wish there would have been at least one review before this, but oh well, I hope those of you who are reading this are enjoying it! Please feel free to leave a comment or critique!

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The first time he kissed her, he was on one knee with a thin gold band in hand.

She fell into his arms with a happy cry, and he pulled her back just enough to find her lips with his own.

It was sloppy and rushed, but he was sure he had never had a better kiss in his long life. It quickly became a deeper kiss, with her small hands threading through his short hair while he dragged his coarse hands through her silky gold tresses.

He dropped the ring at some point, but he really didn't care. They were in their meadow, where they met, and no one was around to steal it or interrupt them. He was too lost in her; his eyes closed and his non-human heart bursting with love.

They broke apart minutes later, Catriona gasping for air. She gave him one of her real smiles.

She was missing a tooth, and two others were chipped. It embarrassed her to show them, which led to her rarely smiling all. It made him happier to be alive just to know he got her to smile with teeth.

There was a part of him that had to remind him she was just a distraction. The part of him that was the monster and used to rule his life liked to remind him that she was just going to die. He did his best to ignore it.

In all the ways that counted, he had become human. He settled down close to their little meadow, building a house and getting a job.

He met her father, and her brothers. He met her best friend, Grace Porter, and he endured church every Sunday. He integrated himself into every part of her life she welcomed him to, and familiarized himself with everything about her.

She knew what he was; he didn't hide anything from her.

His favorite thing to do was to lie under a tree on their Sunday afternoons, his head in her lap while she stroked his hair and read to him.

She loved to read, his little spit fire, and she owned a number of well-loved and worn books.

He just loved to listen to her speak. Her voice was as soothing as everything else about her. She made him human and kept him that way.

He slipped the ring on her left ring finger and wiped the tears of joy from her face with his thumb.

She was so fragile, so soft and gentle to him.

They climbed to their feet, helping each other up.

He had it all planned. His cabin was big enough for the two of them, and he had enough money saved up to be sure they made it for the next year at least.

In the year and a half after they met, Catriona had decided she wanted to be a schoolteacher, among other things.

She was given the position a year ago, holding classes four days a week in the little church she attended.

The tiny town they lived near had several clusters of farmers and ranchers that hailed to it, and their children came to his girl's school as well. She was happy there, working with the children.

It pained him to know he could not give her children of her own, and she knew it. But she didn't hold it against him. It hurt her, he could tell, but she didn't blame him or love him any less.

He held her close for a while, burying his nose in her hair and trying to ignore the growing desire for her.

She was a Christian woman, raised semi-Catholic, and she held fast to her raising. They would wait until their wedding night, and he loved her and respected her too much not to wait for her.

They walked back to their horses slowly, just spending time together after their picnic and his formal proposal.

"I was thinking we should wait to get married until May," she said, playing with her hair.

He winced slightly, May was months away and it would be torture to wait now that he was closer than ever. Thinking quickly, he tried a closer date, "How about your mother's birthday?"

He knew she wanted May because it was her parent's anniversary month. He hoped having it mid March instead would be acceptable.

She thought about it for a while, chewing on her lip. It was her thinking tick. He was pleased with himself whenever he could decipher her thoughts and feelings by her ticks.

She smiled slowly, a faint blush building on her cheeks, "March sounds good."

Four and a half weeks later, they were married in the little church. It was the best day of his life.

As he carried her across the threshold of _their_ house, miles away from any other human, he finally felt at home.

The next morning, he woke up to the sun tickling his nose, and long blonde hair tickling his bare chest. He felt like laughing; he was so full of good feelings. Not even the monster side of him could dampen his mood.

He looked over at his wife…his _wife!_...and smiled, studying her peaceful sleeping face. She was so beautiful, and he loved her so much. He had been wrong the day before; this was the best day of his life.

They lived that way for a few months. But then the dreams started.

He had had bad dreams before, when he traveled about alone. They would sometimes precede the hunger, the need to burn.

So when they returned after their two and a half year absence, he was scared. As a phoenix, he had never feared hunters or other monsters. They could not kill him when they tried.

But as a husband, he was terrified. He might kill his wife one night in his sleep before he could stop himself.

He was a monster, something that belonged in the dark. He didn't deserve Catriona, and he would only hurt her. She deserved so much more then him.

She, of course, knew what his dreams meant, but she insisted that he would not kill her. Her faith in him was touching, but it made him feel all the worse about himself. His young human wife blindly loved him even when he was a threat to her very life. He didn't have any faith in himself.

He thought about leaving, and twice, he almost did.

When the hunger came the strongest, he could suppress it long enough to escape Catriona's arms and flee into the woods, preying on whatever game he found first.

It wasn't much, but it was enough for the years they were married. The hunger didn't plague him every year, but he was always paranoid about it.

Five years, and his twenty-five year old wife was still teaching. Married women were never teachers, wrapped up in housework and children. She didn't have any children however, and the housework was split between the two of them. She didn't complain, and despite his worries and hunger, they were happy.

He was just finishing brushing down his own horse when she arrived home from the school.

He could tell by the way she moved and picked at her blue dress that there was something important she had to say.

"Is something wrong," he asked right away, helping her take care of her horse.

She laughed nervously and shook her head, biting her lip. He knew then whatever she had to say, she thought it was a subject he wouldn't like.

He scrunched his eyebrows, wondering what it could possibly be about.

"I know what you said about children," she began, and for one terrible moment, he actually thought she was going to say that she was pregnant. Whatever baby he could ever father would not be human. More than likely, it would kill her before it was born. (1)

But he needn't have worried, because in the next breathe she said, "Well, the thing is, there are two orphans that need a home. I want us to adopt them."

He wanted to laugh, but he restrained himself. Keeping his face neutral he asked, "Do you really think that's such a good idea?"

She rolled her eyes, her defiant spirit flaring to brilliant life, "You haven't hurt me and you won't hurt them. You'll make a great father, I can tell. They're both boys; the oldest is three years old and his brother is almost seven months old. Their mother died in house fire a month ago, and their father died yesterday in an accident in town. They are staying with the reverend for now, but he and his wife are too old to care for such young children." (2)

She pleaded with her honey brown eyes, and he melted, "I guess it won't hurt to try it out for a few weeks. If it's okay, we'll keep them."

She pouted her lower lip, and she had him where she wanted. With a heavy and uncertain sigh he promised her, "We'll go into town tomorrow and settle the adoption. We should do our shopping and banking while we're there too."

Giving him her best smile, he started to think giving her those children was the right choice. The boys were very young; he had time to learn how to be a father before he had a chance to it mess up too much.

He had been able to conquer his hunger and protect Catriona. He would be able to do the same for those boys.

"What are their names," he asked, spinning her around like they were dancing.

Giggling and laughing, she answered, "The oldest is Sampson and the younger is Charles. I want to call them Sammy and Charlie for short."

"Sounds good to me," he said, genuinely meaning it.

Never in all of his many years did he expect to be a husband and a father. It just wasn't something a monster got to have. It wasn't something a monster deserved.

Yet here he was, with Catriona on his arm laughing and smiling, promising him a family with those little orphans.

He was starting to love the idea of a family with her.

But still, even in all of his joy and happiness of the moment, there was a nagging little voice in the back of his mind. In the back of his mind, in a deep dark recess, the monster he truly was resided. It loved to remind him of how short the time would be with her and this family she spoke of.

All three of them were human; he was going to watch all of them die and keep on living.

But he shoved back at the voice and focused on his present. He focused on the most beautiful, strong, and loving woman on the earth. He would not waste the precious little time together they had.

At least she and the boys would be alive for years to come. He could focus on that.

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**Additional Note: 1. **No, that was not a Twilight reference. I didn't even realize it sounded that way until now. **2. **I didn't plan this at first, but you know what, I think I'm going to make little Charlie one of Azazel's special children. He did say there were other generations, and the boys' mom died in a house fire when Charlie was six months. Fits enough for me. Yellow-Eyes is not in this story though, and as you'll see later, whether or not Charlie is a special child will not effect the story. Who knows though, I might use these two kids in another, unrelated, story some day.

Don't forget to review!


	3. Chapter 3: The Thought of Death

**Author's Note:** I like this little story; I think it's turning out well. Let me know what you think! If you read this and have an opinion, please rate, review, critique, complain, or comment!

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The first time he saved her was also the first time he almost lost her.

She was still at the school when the storm clouds started forming. He had been through enough storms in his long life to know which ones produced tornados by sight, so he knew that his young wife was in potential danger right away.

They had only been married for three years by that point.

He mounted his horse without bothering to put on the saddle and took off for the school building riding bareback.

By the time he got there, the partly sunny day had gone dark and the strong winds made his horse start to veer off course repeatedly. The rain started as he tied the horse down in the relative safety of a deep alcove. It was fairly light for the moment. Thunder then cracked loudly, and another burst of lightening flashed wickedly across the skies. He grit his teeth.

He hurried his pace and fought his way to the door. He pounded on the chipped red paint until it opened.

A little dark skinned girl stood frightened behind the door, but admitted him anyway.

He found his wife in the center of the room, giving orders to her little troops, who pushed and slid the furniture around the room to barricade and reinforce the windows and doors.

They had also made a circle of desks and chairs in the center of the room where those too small to be of use huddled within the protective ring.

His wife then ordered the working children to join the others as they finished their assignments. She flashed him a smile when she saw him and then waved him over. She motioned him to follow her lead, and he joined her in covering the students with their bodies.

She was brave and caring, his young wife. She would rather herself be struck by flying debris than have her students hurt. He would feel some regret if the pint-sized humans were harmed, but he knew that if it came down to where debris was flying, she was protect his first priority.

The building shook as the tornado passed nearby them. The rain and the thunder were nearly deafening, and most of the children were crying. He tried to be patient with them, but they were starting to get on his nerves.

Eventually the worst of the noises faded to near silence, and the children started to get up. "Don't," he commanded, knowing the storm was not over. There would be another round of wind, rain, and nature's fury.

Most of them listened, but three of them made their way to the door and began to dig their way out of the barricade.

Catriona climbed to her feet and rushed over, "What do you think you're doing? There's more to the storm and you'll be caught out in it if you go now!"

The girl of the group stopped and turned around, asking with her eyes if it was true.

The two older boys however, did not. One of them responded for the two of them, "Maybe. But maybe we can beat it home. We don't live that far and my house had a storm cellar. We'll be alright."

"Please," his wife asked, laying a hand on the boy who spoke's shoulder, "Just stay here a little while longer. It's almost over, and then everyone can leave together."

He shook her hand off with a slight apology, "Sorry ma'am, but I have to be sure my family is alright."

Elias could relate with the boy's concern. It was the reason he rushed over to the schoolhouse. But he was a phoenix, and the storm couldn't kill him. "Listen to her," he told them, walking over to join his wife, "She's right."

Walking out anyway, they didn't respond to him.

Just then, as if the wind sensed the opportunity, it picked up once more and forced a metal bucket to make contact with the back of the first boy's head. He went down without a sound.

The second boy ran to his friend's side even as more debris swirled toward them. With a cry of warning, his wife threw herself outside to save them.

"Catriona," he cried, following her because he could not protect her from inside. He had enough sense to close the door securely behind him before he chased down his wife.

She had made it to the boys' side just when a cluster of debris came flying for them. She pushed the second boy out of the debris path and to safety, but she suffered a nail embedding itself into her outstretched arm and a piece of wood clipped her side forcefully.

She fell back to the ground almost bonelessly with a soft cry of surprise. His eyes widened and pure, unchecked fear coursed through him for the first time in his life. She was hurt, she was down, and she could be dead.

But as he made it to her side and scooped her in his arms, she pushed him away. She focused on hoisting the unconscious boy up with the help of the second boy, and both began back to the schoolhouse.

He didn't do anything at first, heart still pounding after watching his wife get injured. But then he moved to take the load from her, slinging the unconscious boy over his shoulder and ushering the two along.

He saw more pieces of wood headed for them, likely the remnants of a fence, and he knocked the pieces away from his limping wife and the other boy using his arm and chest. Sharp edges cut into his flesh but he barely felt it. Nothing the wind threw at him would kill him, and he would heal quickly from any damage it could inflict.

He scooped his wife up with his free arm, pushing the walking boy all the way back to the door, always keeping his wife on the other side of harm's way. Two additional items slammed into him, but it didn't slow him down in the least.

Nothing else happened until the storm was over, and by then, he had gently pulled out the nail from her arm and wrapped the bleeding site up in strips of his shredded shirt.

She stubbornly refused to be sorry for her reckless behavior. She was a little ashamed of getting hurt, especially because of the big deal he made of it, but she did not regret it. As he fumed a little more, glaring at the boys, she reached out with her good arm and used her hand to cup his face and forcefully turn it toward her.

"I'm okay Elias. You saved me from getting really hurt, and this little wound will be gone in less then a fortnight. Relax."

He did, gradually, controlling his breathing and gazing into her beautiful eyes. He focused on the fact that she was okay.

But two days later, she was dying.

The little wound on her arm had become infected. It was red and oozing, slightly swollen and angry looking. He nursed her with shaking hands, always scared by the feel of her raging fever.

She was so hot, burning to the touch. It was not unlike when he burned someone, and every time his eyes shut, he saw her turning to ash at his hand on the back of his eyelids.

For days, he didn't sleep or eat. He stayed by her side, cleaning and re-bandaging her arm, wiping her brow and applying wet towels to her forehead and neck.

She was asleep most of the time, but when she was awake, she wasn't very lucid.

She would usually mistake him for her recently deceased father or one of her brothers. When she remembered her father was dead, it was like the first time she heard the news. He had to comfort her all over again in her mourning.

Sometimes she would cry for her mother, and he almost wanted to leave and escape her pain because it hurt him so much.

She had no family nearby anymore. Her parents were dead, and all four brothers had moved out of state.

But once, just before her fever broke, she woke up thinking straight. She had looked at him with her glittering fever eyes, but she was finally seeing him.

"Thank you Elias," she said with a little effort, "Thank you for taking care of me."

Laughing quietly, he stroked her sweat-dampened hair, "What kind of a husband would I be if I didn't?"

"I love you," she said, her eyes starting to slide shut, "I'll always love you, even when I'm gone."

"Don't talk like that," he choked out, his eyes watering as he thought of her being dead like her words implied. Stroking her warm and flushed cheek, he whispered to her, "Please don't leave me. I won't be human without you."

She forced her eyes open, reaching out a hand to hold his. Despite her weakness, she gripped his hand with such strength, "You are a good man Elias. That won't change when I'm gone."

"Don't be so sure," he said, closing his eyes. She released his hand and cupped his cheek, rubbing her thumb on his jawline. He tilted his head into her touch and nuzzled her hand.

"I'm sure," she said, her eyes closing and her hand slipping away.

He jolted, thinking for a long and terrible second that she had actually died. But when he opened his eyes, he could see with each rise and fall of her chest that she was still breathing, still alive.

When her fever broke two days after that, he fell into her arms and cried.

He wasn't ashamed, not entirely, but he did feel regret that he forced her to take care of him when she was still recovering.

She didn't complain. She just rocked him in her arms and cradled his head to her chest, stroking his hair. She soothed him, repeating herself over and over, "It's okay. I'm okay. I love you."

He watched her, years later, getting ready to go into town.

She hadn't died then, and he would always be with her to ensure nothing else tried to take her from him early.

She was braiding her hair hurriedly, already dressed in her brand new yellow dress. She shot him a look, annoyed by how quickly he got ready. "Would you like some help," he asked with a smile.

Sticking her tongue out at him like a child, she finished her braid and coiled it around the back of her head, pinning it in place. "Let's go," she said, eager to get the adoption under way.

He chuckled again, following his little lady out to their waiting buggy.

They had purchased the rickety wooden cart for the children. She insisted they were too small to ride horseback.

He shook his head again and smiled when she refused his help and climbed into her seat.

In town, they stopped at the genreal store to look around at the merchandise and the catalogs, Catriona pointing out a few things they should get before they brought the boys home with them.

"There's no rush though," she concluded, setting down a whittled wood toy, "We have plenty of time to get the little things as they get older."

He made his way to the bank after they left the store, Catriona a pace behind him when she stopped suddenly. "What," he asked, turning to look back at her.

"It's Grace," she said, pointing to the building she had seen her old friend enter with a brilliant smile, "Grace Porter, or actually, Grace Tupper now."

She didn't have to form the question before he wavered her off with a promise, "I'll be fast in the bank and join you shortly. Be careful."

She gave him that smile again, and ran over with a wave of good-bye.

But he wished more than anything he had never let her out of his sight.


End file.
